Struck Dumb
by ibelieveinguardianangels
Summary: "Somehow, he managed to muster enough strength to drag himself out of the upturned cab and crawl over to the roadside, leaning up against a phone box. Moments later, he was surrounded by the people who had witnessed the crash." Sherlock is caught in a car crash and, as a result, suffers from Aphasia. (Sorry for the bad summary).
1. Chapter 1

**This is my new story. It's the first multi-chapter story I've written _and_ finished so I apologise if it's not very good. I know the chapters aren't very long. ****Obviously this story includes major character injury (brain damage) and mute!Sherlock.** **Sorry this chapter is so short. There are 8 chapters that vary in length. I intend to post at least one per day depending on how this opening chapter is received.** **Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Chapter 1**

 _4 days, 23 hours and 20 minutes_

That was precisely how long it had been since the consulting detective had fallen unconscious. It had been early on in the afternoon and Sherlock had been on his way home from the crime scene when the cab he had been travelling in was hit head on by a speeding car. The driver of the cab had died on impact.

Sherlock had been catapulted upwards, his head colliding roughly with the roof of the cab, his scalp splitting open on impact and blood beginning to pour down the side of his face, matting his black curls together. Miraculously, the man hadn't been knocked unconscious immediately.

Somehow, he managed to muster enough strength to drag himself out of the upturned cab and crawl over to the roadside, leaning up against a phone box. Moments later, he was surrounded by the people who had witnessed the crash.

 _3 minutes and 12 seconds_

That's how long it took from reaching the pavement before Sherlock succumbed to the darkness that was beginning to cloud his vision. He only just registered the distant wail of sirens. Emergency services surely rushing to the scene.

 _2 hours and 30 minutes_

That was the amount of time it had taken the emergency services to figure out that if they looked in the wallet kept in Sherlock's back pocket, they would find a card listing Doctor John Watson was his emergency contact. It was how long it took for John to be made aware of the accident.

A young police officer had received an earful about his incompetence before John had hung up and set off to St. Bartholomew's hospital.

It took John less than an hour to sprint there as he clearly couldn't rely on the traffic. Most of the roads had been blocked off due to the resurfacing of the streets that was taking place and others were jam packed with slow moving traffic due to the accident that had put his best friend in hospital.

John had been at his best friend's bedside since he had been let out of surgery. They had operated as soon as he had been brought in, having found swelling around the detective's brain. It was vital they operated to remove the pressure immediately.

There had been speculation about the extent of the man's injuries, but the neurosurgeon had informed John that it would be highly unlikely that he would walk away from such a crash with no brain damage.

 **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think and if I should continue.** **ibelieveinguardianangels**


	2. Chapter 2

**I have no medical training, so if anything is inaccurate, I apologise.**

 **Here is the second chapter.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Chapter 2**

Sherlock's multicoloured eyes danced beneath their closed lids as he slowly awoke, becoming aware of three things as he did so. One, there were two very annoying, very repetitive noises surrounding him. He figured that one of which was a heart monitor. The other, he realised, was John tapping his foot against the laminate hospital flooring. Two, his head was pounding so loudly he worried, however stupidly, for a moment that it was going to explode. And three, he was gagging for some water. His dry tongue was pasted to the roof of his mouth.

Sherlock suddenly sucked in a deep breath through his nose, the sound catching the attention of John who jumped up from his seat, the tapping coming to a stop as he pressed himself up against the bedside and took Sherlock by the hand, gently massaging the back of it with his thumb.

"Sherlock?" John spoke softly. "Can you hear me?"

Sherlock could. However, his voice seemed distant, despite the fact that Sherlock was aware of his close proximity as he could feel his hand clasping his own.

Forcing his eyes open, Sherlock winced, squeezing them closed again as soon as the sunlight seeped into his pupils and caused his head to pound angrily, the sensation of nausea accompanying his discomfort.

John had left his side in an instant, returning moments later and squeezing his hand once again with the words;

"Can you open your eyes for me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was pleased to find that the earlier distortion had disappeared and John seemed to have lowered his voice, clearly being thoughtful of Sherlock's painful head. The detective forced his eyelids open once again, fighting the urge to close them once more and go back to sleep.

He had to admit that he was very thankful that John had closed the curtains and the room was much dimmer.

"Welcome back." John smiled softly, reaching behind Sherlock's head for the call button to alert the nurses of Sherlock's waking. "Do you remember why you're here?"

With a sigh, Sherlock opened his mouth to answer.

" _Caa_ ," He rasped, frowning at John. He reached a hand up to his throat as John's smile dropped. He danced across the hospital room, returning moments later with a glass of water, guiding the straw to the detective's lips. After wetting his mouth and throat, he tried again. The same painful grating sound appeared.

"Can you tell me your name?" John inquired, producing a torch from somewhere and shining it in the detective's eyes, apologising as he winced and tried to flinch away.

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to speak. His pink tongue moved, trying to form the word, but no sound came out. He closed his mouth, swallowed and tried again, more frantically this time and, when he realised that he couldn't, his eyes began to flick between John and the door to his room that had just opened to reveal a nurse.

"Okay, okay," John soothed, seeing the emotion in Sherlock's eyes, "don't panic."

Within minutes, a neurologist had been contacted and Sherlock was rushed for a number of tests. The subsequent diagnosis was just as John had suspected;

 **Aphasia**

Sherlock soon found himself back in his hospital room, admittedly shaken from the sudden flurry of activity that had accompanied his awakening, with John on the seat beside him. A silence encased the two as Sherlock lost himself in his thoughts.

"Sherlock," John spoke eventually, tearing him from his musings, "do you know what Aphasia is?"

Sherlock realised as he was shaking his head in the negative that John was purposely asking him questions to which he could nod, shake his head or shrug his shoulders.

"It means," John began, rising from his chair so that Sherlock could see him without having to turn his head and giving himself a stiff neck, "that during the crash you received an injury to the area of your brain affecting language and language understanding. In your case it means that you're currently unable to speak. Put simply, Sherlock, you're mute." He stated, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't want him to beat about the bush.

Unconsciously, Sherlock tilted his head to the side, blinking at him.

"You will be referred to a speech and language pathologist as soon as you're well enough to leave the hospital. It _is_ possible for you to relearn the words you already know, but it will take time and patience. Until then, we can figure out some form of communication."

Sherlock blinked again. This time, the blink brought with in tears and Sherlock couldn't stop them from spilling over and down his cheeks.

"Oh, Sherlock," John reached out, placing one hand on his shoulder to comfort him and using the other to grasp his hand. "Listen, we're not going to give up. There are different forms of speech therapy and if the one we first try doesn't work, then we'll search for one that does." He promised.

Inside his head, Sherlock was panicking. He _needed_ his speech. He was a detective. What kind of detective would he be if he couldn't convey his findings? But he couldn't find a way to express these feelings to John. He shook his head, reaching up with the hand that wasn't trapped in John's grip to wipe away the tears.

 **Thank you for reading. Please review.**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the third chapter.**

 **Thank you for all the follows, favourites and reviews.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Chapter 3**

It had been exactly two days since Sherlock had awoken and his brain damage and subsequent speech impediment had been discovered.

In that time, Lestrade had visited, wished him well, and left with the promise that he _wouldn't_ mention Sherlock's current predicament to any of the officers at the Yard. At John's insistence, he assured them that he would definitely _not_ tell _Anderson_. He told Sherlock to get better soon before informing him that he missed him. John laughed at the confused look on Sherlock's face and the shudder than ran through him after Lestrade had left.

Mrs. Hudson had also been to visit. She'd brought with her some of her homemade jam tarts for which John was extremely grateful, the food from the canteen was nowhere near as nice as Mrs. Hudson's homemade treats. She'd fussed around him like a mother hen, checking he was comfortable, making sure he didn't need her to bring him anything and kissing his forehead repeatedly.

By the time she left she was in tears, which made poor Sherlock feel even worse.

"It's not your fault." John had assured him once Mrs. Hudson had finally left the hospital wing, not before kissing his forehead _again_. "She's just emotional because it's difficult seeing someone that you care about going through something like this."

Now, apparently, it was Mycroft's turn to visit, much to Sherlock's dismay.

As soon as he had heard the tapping of the metal umbrella tip on the flooring of the hospital corridor, he let out a sigh that pulled John's attention from the phone he'd been looking at, reading up on speech therapists for Sherlock. It was the first time he had ever heard a sigh like that emit from the detective, yet somehow he knew exactly _why_ Sherlock had sighed in that way.

"Mycroft?" He questioned, watching as Sherlock nodded in response. Noting the expression on Sherlock's face, John promised that he would get rid of him if necessary.

"Ah, brother mine," Mycroft greeted as he entered the hospital room without permission. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's words, wincing at the ache the action caused in his head, "what kind of trouble have you got yourself into this time?"

Both John and Sherlock narrowed their eyes at his question.

"You know exactly what happened, Mycroft. And I've no doubt that you're already aware of his diagnosis so you _know_ that he can't answer your question." John hissed. "If you're simply here to taunt him, I suggest you exit the way you entered and you do it now."

"Taunt him?" Mycroft questioned in an extremely condescending way. "Of course not. I'm here merely to see how he is and let him know that mummy and father have been informed of his accident."

"Good. Now tell him. Not me." John stated and Sherlock couldn't help but smile. During the past few days, the majority of the doctors and nurses that had been in to check on him and update him on his condition had spoken to John as oppose to Sherlock. And the ones that _had_ spoken to Sherlock had treated him like he was a child. They asked John important questions about treatments and pain reliefs and they had spoken to John about speech therapists instead of Sherlock.

After John had chased Mycroft out of the hospital when he'd upset Sherlock, another nurse proved to be just as bad as the rest when she'd arrived to remove Sherlock's catheter and then told John that it was important Sherlock made sure he let John know when he needed to go so that John could escort him.

Sherlock lay on his back after that, staring up at the ceiling whilst John read, deep in his own thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder just how he was going to let John know when he had to go to the toilet if he couldn't speak, but he supposed that he'd figure something out. He really had no other option.

 **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think so far, hopefully the next chapter will be up either later today or tomorrow.**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's the 4th chapter, so there's only 4 more to go.**

 **Sorry it's so short. I think that the previous two were the longest in the entire story. From here on out they're going to be quite short so there's a possibility I might be posting two a day rather than one.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Chapter 4**

Sherlock figured that he must have fallen asleep, because when he had opened his eyes, John had been to the cafe a short way from here and was currently munching away at what appeared to be a _pan au chocolat_. Noting that Sherlock had awoken again, he gestured to the table beside his hospital bed.

"I got you a buttered croissant." He smiled. "I figured that you'd prefer that over hospital food."

Sherlock smiled gratefully at John, reaching for his controls and raising himself into a sitting position. He devoured the still-warm croissant in minutes and sent John a nod that the doctor realised was a thank you.

"Sherlock," John spoke finally, sitting up from his previous slouching position, "I'm planning on popping back to Baker Street later on this afternoon to shower and get changed," he informed him, gesturing to the clothing he had been wearing since Sherlock had been brought in. Sherlock pointed to the showers across the hall. "I know, but I don't have anything to change into. Do you want me to call Lestrade and have him come and sit with you until I get back?"

Sherlock shook his head. He couldn't have John thinking that he needed to be looked after like a child. He had enough with being spoken to like a child.

"How about Molly?" He suggested. "I think she wants to come and see you."

At this he furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side. A gesture that had come to mean he was confused or questioning what had been said.

"She hasn't been to visit you because she doesn't know if you're going to want to see her or not." John explained. "If I'm honest, I think she's scared."

Sherlock straightened his head and blinked. He didn't need to question that one. She was frightened that Sherlock would refuse to see her because he wasn't his usual self. And she was frightened that seeing Sherlock as is would make her change her opinion of him.

"Shall I tell her that it's okay for her to come and visit you?" A nod. If he was being honest with himself, it would be nice to see a familiar face that wasn't John, Lestrade or Mycroft.

 **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think.**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


	5. Chapter 5

**There are two chapters today. Chapters 5 and 6 because both are quite short.**

 **Thank you for the reviews, follows and favourites.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Chapter 5**

As he had warned, John left the hospital just after Sherlock had eaten again. Sherlock assumed that it was about half an hour after he had left that Molly knocked timidly on the door to his hospital room. Sherlock smiled at her as she entered, a cuddly dark brown teddy bear in her hand. Catching Sherlock looking at it, she began to stammer her defence.

"Oh, uh, I," She flushed, bowing her head, "I assumed that you wouldn't want flowers so I bought you a teddy, I mean, I know," she stopped her nervous stuttering when she saw Sherlock holding out his hand. She placed the bear in his open palm, watching him inspect it. She stopped trying to come up with panicked excuses when she saw a soft smile appear on his lips.

With a wave of his hand, he gestured for Molly to put the bear on the end of the bed. She did so, making sure that it was facing him.

 _So_ , Sherlock thought, _Molly can understand me, just like John._ Interesting.

As Molly sat down in what had become known as John's seat, Sherlock allowed his eyes to dance over her. Her hair had been thrown up into a messy ponytail and her clothing looked like it had been picked up off of her bedroom floor. Her dark purple top didn't really match her blue trousers and yellow shoes. It looked like she had just shoved on the first clothing she had found.

Her fingers were sore, Sherlock noted, as she handed over the card. She explained that John had informed her that he was having a little trouble reading at the minute and told him that all it said inside was 'get well soon'. Her nails had been chewed very low and her fingertips were red and swollen.

Sherlock hoped that her heightened anxiety wasn't due to his accident. But, he reasoned with himself, it was very likely that it was.

Sherlock wished he could talk. He wanted to ask if she'd been to work. Somehow, he doubted it.

"I should be setting off," Molly said eventually, "Toby needs to be fed and John should be back soon. Will you be okay on your own?" Sherlock nodded, smiling at her as a way to thank her for coming.

 **Thank you for reading. Please leave a review :)**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's chapter 6. There are two more chapters of this story left.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Chapter 6**

Sherlock had, thankfully, discovered a way to convey his need to empty his full bladder to John. Apparently, all it took was for him to get John's attention, gesture vaguely to towards his crotch with his hand and then towards the hallway where the toilets were.

Sherlock couldn't help but think to himself, as John guided him and his IV pole down the corridor to the toilets, that the doctor's observational skills had certainly improved during the time he had been in hospital. He supposed they had to have done given Sherlock was communicating through basic hand gestures, head tilts and facial expressions.

While he was washing his hands, Sherlock caught a glimpse of his reflection, particularly the shaved area of his head, in the mirror. John caught his questioning look.

"They had to shave that area for surgery. Your hair should grow to cover the scar." He promised, handing Sherlock a blue paper towel to dry his hands on.

Once the detective was settle back onto his bed, John spoke, gesturing to the teddy bear at the end of the bed that Sherlock was actually petting with his toes.

"A present from Molly?" At Sherlock's nod, John chuckled. Of course, Molly would give him a teddy bear. John wondered what he was going to do with it when he returned home.

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Please let me know what you think.**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


	7. Chapter 7

**These are the final two chapters.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Chapter 7**

 _Finally_. Sherlock thought as John appeared in his hospital room with a take away cup of tea and a bag packed with his shoes, shirt and trousers. He was being discharged today and John had gone to 221B to grab some of his clothing, noting that he would probably prefer to go home in his own clothes.

John had set up Sherlock's speech therapy to begin on Thursday morning at 10:30 with Doctor Annalisa Eunycia and now they were waiting for Inspector Lestrade to arrive to take them back to Baker Street.

When he eventually did arrive and both men were sitting in the back of the car (John wanted to keep an eye on Sherlock), the detective unconsciously reached out to squeeze John's hand. He felt a sense of dread overcoming him as the car began to move. He wasn't an idiot. Of course he knew that it was fear that stemmed from his accident.

John didn't speak, he didn't want to embarrass Sherlock, instead he squeezed Sherlock's hand back, smiling reassuringly at him and it wasn't long before they arrived in front of 221B.

John immediately began to fuss around him, making sure that he was comfortable on the sofa before covering him up with a blanket. He made him a cup of tea, despite it not being that long since his last one, and handed him a plate of ginger biscuits.

"You know what they said at the hospital," John spoke, leaning forwards in his chair "its important that you rest. You need to eat and sleep regularly. And, if you want, you can have a bath a little later on. No washing your hair for now, though. I can give you a hand with that later to make sure you don't pull your stitches out." He smiled, watching Sherlock as he rolled his eyes.

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Please let me know what you think.**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


	8. Chapter 8

**I know it's not great, but this was my first finished multi-chapter story.**

 **Thank you for reading and for the reviews, follows and favourites.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Chapter 8**

Sherlock had been lying on his back on the couch, the blanket resting over his legs, and his hands steepled below his chin, when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his violin sitting on top of his desk.

He rose slowly from the sofa and stood, making his way across the room. John looked up from his laptop, preparing to tell Sherlock that he should be resting before he saw what the detective was doing. And despite knowing that Sherlock would be better lying down, he couldn't separate the detective from his violin. Not while knowing that it was his only voice at the moment.

Sherlock lifted the violin, running his fingers over the wood slowly before positioning it on his shoulder and raising the bow. Within moments, a beautiful melody rang out in the flat. John closed his eyes, listening to the sound as it filled the room.

Sherlock had initially panicked that he wouldn't be able to play any longer. He couldn't be more thankful that he still possessed his musical ability. He looked up when he heard his friend leave his chair, listening to him padding across the room. John paused in front of him, reaching up and carefully removing the violin from his hand, placing it carefully on the table. Moments later, he wrapped Sherlock in a tight hug, just thankful to see him back in 221B and playing his beloved violin.

Sherlock frowned slightly.

"J-John?" He stammered the question before the realisation hit him and he and John stared at one another. A smile spread across Sherlock's face, John's matching it.

"Say it again." John ordered softly.

"J-John."

 **Thank you, again, for reading.**

 **Let me know what you think/thought?**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


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